


The world is Black and White (But darling we are Grey)

by Tangledinprose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A little angst, Characters will fall in love, Did I mention sexual tension, Eventual Smut, F/F, If you look really hard or squint, Kind of cheating, SO MUCH SEXUAL TENSION, Sexual Tension, WarriorClarke, WarriorLexa, i guess, kay bye
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:39:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5823685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangledinprose/pseuds/Tangledinprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She looks behind me but continues to hold my face in her hand. I take in what I can see of her features. Soft cheeks, deep eyes, almost red lips against her pale. She is ferociously beautiful."</p><p> Or the AU in which the Sky people never existed and all anybody knew was ground and war. The AU in which Clarke and Lexa find themselves together anyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The world is Black and White (But darling we are Grey)

**Author's Note:**

> Concept born out of late nights and a craving for Clexa love.

My limbs feel heavy. My lips dry. My skin caked with exhaustion as I lower myself onto my knees. Not giving up. Never giving up. Just taking a moment. To catch my breath; centre myself. There is still fire at my throat. An anger I have never felt before now. It makes my fingertips shake, my tongue loose and harsh. Everything feels different. 

“ _Heda, ye sifal skrik kon” (Commander, the signal has been made)._ Indra takes me in, my arms resting on the table, my back straight; unrelenting. I am on my knees yes. But she doesn’t move closer. Not for a moment. She knows I am anything but weak. My short nails scratch along the wood surface as my eyes rove the maps upon maps. Plans upon plans that I have devised for this moment. For attack. 

Logically I know that wasting the lives of my soldiers for one person. For one girl, is an act of vulnerable I should not allow. That I am tearing through villages; am casting blood like it is water. But still the fire has not been quenched. Because it is _this_ girl. My body has gone without rest for two days. This girl. 

She has to be found. 

“ _Mon” (Good)_ I am standing, tightening armour to my frame and reaching for the black liquid that will mar my features, cast me into Heda. This role that I was born for. Fighter, warrior, leader. 

Killer. 

 _“Havref Gustus” (Bring me Gustus)._ I don’t wait to watch her leave. I turn my back, close my eyes and feel the cold of the paint touch my skin. I am sloppy in my work, smudges touching my eyebrows and streaking my cheeks. I do not care for precision at this moment. I know the shadows now on my face will make me look like a threat. Dark, vicious. Exactly everything that I am. 

I feel him enter my tent more than I can see. He stands still, waiting for my command. I know his body is tense. I know his armour is tight. I can smell the paint of war already coating his features. “You will take the bow today. Indra will be by my side”. 

 _“Vet.. Heda-“ (But, commander)_ , He is confused. Worried maybe. 

“This is an order Gustus. I know what I am doing.” It is true. He is tall. Strong. He will do more good at my flank. Indra is fast, violent. She will fight savagely until I tell her to stop. She will protect me if needed. But not make my kills for me. My palms are itching. My teeth ready to be bared. I do not need protecting. 

He nods his ascent, waits until I exit the tent to follow. My braids whip past my shoulders and I reach behind to tie them. Not entirely. I want to look feral. My weapons attached sturdy to my waist, my jaw clenched. 

She has to be found. 

 

***

 

My chest heaves. My body rigid, stance tall and fingers tight around my knife. My warriors are behind me, waiting for my command. Watching the threat and itching to fight. I can feel their impatience against the back of my neck. He stands just as tall, face masked with white; arms caked with patterns that are foreign to my eye. He smirks, looks right at me, and thats what makes me lunge; weapon bared, fist connecting to his face before he can even blink. I am good at this I know. 

I have to be. 

My warriors roar behind me, but none of his people come to attack. He is on his knee’s before me, my knife to his neck and I keep my back faced to mine. My trusted. The feels uncomfortable. Easy. 

“WHERE IS SHE”, the demand comes from my diaphragm; powerful. Intense. He knows without a doubt who I am. There is a resounding roar from my people. 

“We don’t have her,” he replies, face stoic. Calm. As though he has accepted his inevitable death. That is the difference between our clans. We are strong. Savage. We fight until we are broken. 

They are cold. Vicious. They fight until there is no point. Calculated. Like they are made of stone. Like life is nothing. 

“Krevus. Brava. Hrev”. I call to them and they know what I want. Weapons ready, feet light, they are in and out of homes quicker than I can blink. Searching. I know I am aching with need to look for myself. To rip my blade through this mans neck and search every piece of land on this village for her. But that would be selfish. That would be weak. 

 _“Re gof din rere”  (You won’t find her here)._ The lilt of his voice is different. The order of words are wrong. But I understand him. His language matches mine and that send another bout of fury through my spine. We are all born on this ground. 

I place my face close to his, my teeth bared. My dark paint unmistakable. The knife nicks at his throat and beads of red begin to form. _“Kle dro ni fer” (Then take me to her),_ I hiss, and he smirks. 

 _“Shah Hehdah” (Yes Commander),_ mocking spitting out my title between his teeth and I retaliate, using the sharp edge of my elbow to force at his jaw, sending him sprawling. My warriors crow but still I do not turn, keeping my eyes fixated on his form. My senses ready for attack. 

 _“Va.” (Come)_ I pull him up, calling Gustus forward with the twitch of my two fingers and he is bound, weapons taken of his person. His face resembles a mask once more and this I am familiar with. Strength. Insolence. 

I am back on my horse as Indra pulls up next to me. “This is a trap Heda”. I look forward, wait until our capture is secure with Gustus before unclenching my fists and shifting. I am not leading the way now. I am following. “Bow Gustus”, he nods, passing his weapon to Hrev who now takes my flank. I close my eyes for a moment. Not giving up. Never giving up. 

My warriors will follow as I lead them into a death trap. I run my tongue across my lips and sigh. They are ready. We are ready. I cannot lose. “I know.” I answer without looking. Indra tightens her jaw and settles. This is war. This is what we do. This is what we are born for. 

She needs to be found. I cannot waste time on hesitation. 

 _“Noa” (Now),_ I say it quietly, my eyes on Gustus but my people roar. Fire too beneath their skin. It rumbles between us. I can feel the fight prickle beneath my skin. 

It is time. 

 

***

 

Blood. I can smell it heavy in the air. The roar around me, so familiar that it lightens to an almost buzz. I am focused, sword slicing, calls of war leaving my lips and pushing my warriors forward. There is both black and white paint littered on the ground. But the red is the same. I don’t know how many has been lost. My arms ache with effort, my ribs sharp with pain as a small knife embeds itself into my skin. I barely flinch, looking the woman in the face before the hilt of my sword drags through her sternum. 

I look around. We are winning. More black painted skin than white. This causes me to bare my teeth further. A sickening kind of pleasure allow me to smile. My warriors. My _people_. 

And then there is a retreat. An order spoken that causes the whitened bodies to cease. And I am heaving, never turning but I can feel my clan behind me. Forming, recuperating. Ignoring their wounds and standing tall. 

I roar into the sky, feeling every inch of an animal. Clothes torn, skin broken. Blood on my lips. 

“WHERE IS SHE”, I scream, fire burning its way to my tongue. I wipe away my red. Feel it liquid against my palm as I stride forward. With purpose. With anger. 

I see her before I see the knife. She is on her knees, hands tied behind her back and lips trembling. She was never a warrior. Always so soft for my calloused hands. Always so open for my rough. 

I growl, heat emanating from my cheeks. She has no visible bruises, no blood marring her skin. Her clothes are changed, from our usual dark greys and green to their deep black. Charcoal. I  take a step forward; watch her head get pulled back and the knife brought closer as their people growl at me. 

Mine roar back. Like a pack of animals we communicate. I feel feral in my fury. So i stand tall. Keep my eyes on her as I whisper her name. _“Costia”_

She openly cries, tears spilling onto her cheeks. Something in me aches. Perhaps the part that loves her. I hear a snort of disgust and I look up, following the knife on my beloveds throat to the attacker. She stands tall, deep charcoal wrapped around her wrists up to her shoulders. Black lines the rims of her eyes, but she has thick white against her cheekbones, stripes running down her neck and touching her collar bones. She is fair, almost as light as the paint she adorns, but the black of her armour makes her look powerful. Her hair is out in plaits. Golden almost as it fans across her shoulders. 

I take in the blue of her eyes, the curve of white beneath them as it accentuates their depth, and I know without a doubt that this is their leader. 

 _“Vahol Leksah” (Welcome Lexa),_ she speaks and it echoes across my ear drums. She has the same lilt as our capture, as though her tongue wraps around my name differently. I bare my teeth and stand my ground. Her face barely changes; stone. Always cold and hard like ice. I know she will slice through Costia’s neck if I give her the slightest reason to. “We have been waiting for days”. 

“ _Yuat fo re tan” (What do you want),_ I all but growl at her and she tilts her head, running her hands tighter through Costias hair. She trembles harder, knee’s shaking and I want to run to her. Ease her fear. But this leader has her ice cold eyes trained on me and my feet are rooted to the ground. 

“I am looking for my mother. _Abbeh_. I heard you had taken her. She is the healer of this clan. Give her to me and I will spare the blood of your beloved.” 

She speaks slowly. Almost bored like she doesn’t care either way and I grind my teeth in anger. “We do not have your healer.” She eyes me, eyebrows arch for a second before she sucks in her lips. 

 _“Datoh lod” (Thats too bad),_ she says and it happens in an instant. Costia is pulled back; her knife is slicing forward and I roar as I see a trickle of blood. 

 _“GRAV!” (WAIT),_ I rush forward and Costia screams; my stomach clenching as I holt. _“Grav”._

I didn’t think she heard me, but she stops her knife and I breath through my teeth, unease settling at the pit of my stomach. “The Mountain Men must have taken her. They tried an attack on our healer not too long ago. We were there to stop their warriors.” 

“I see,” she stands back and removes her knife from Costia’s neck, picking it up so it is close to her face, as though she is examining her blood. Fire burns at my throat again, but I tighten my fists against it. “Did they say anything to you before you killed them”. 

“Their people are sick. I didn’t listen to much else.” 

She smirks at me for the first time and its disconcerting to see something other than a mask on her features. I taste bitterness in my mouth as I realise how alike we are. Both threats to each other. Both killers. Both merciless. 

She rolls her neck in a gesture and its all too late before I know what she is doing. Commanding. Ordering. 

I am surrounded by white before I can even blink and she doesn’t leave my eyes as my warriors roar in attack, knives unsheathed, black paint dripping. 

“It is useless for them to fight. There are too many of us. There will only be blood in the end.” She says and I am tired of her games. My nerves are on fire, my instincts running overdrive as I bore into the icy blue of her irises. 

 _“SETO” (STOP)._ I call out to my people, hands raised and the roar dies down instantly. There is erie silence for a moment as we take in each other. Her people against mine. White against black. My spine is rigid, teeth bared. And she is nothing. Mere slits of her eyes to show that she see’s our threat. 

“You are my capture now,” she says and my people roar, thrash, but never move to attack. I stare her down as she looks up, stone arches showing for the first time her white painted warriors, bows upon bows ready. There are many of them. We will all be dead. For a moment I do not care. I imagine running forward and sinking my knife into her chest. Watch the blood rise to her lips and stain her white paint pink. 

But my eyes flicker to Costia, still on her knees. Fear still in her eyes. And I unclench. I accept. And I hiss out my resignation. 

“Octaviah”, she calls and a warrior to my right, with dark braids and charcoal lips grabs at my arm to drag me forward. I growl and pull back, using the heel of my palm to connect to her chin, baring my teeth and pulling my arms from her grasp. I stand tall and walk forward, spitting on the ground as I move to face their leader. She’s smirking again but I don’t know whether its aimed at me at all. 

“You know much of these Mountain Men. You will remain here until we retrieve our healer.” She clicks her tongue and pulls Costia to stand, ignoring her whimpers as she faces me. “The girl will leave. As will your people. I have no need for spilt blood.” She lets go of her and Costia stumbles, looking toward me as I shake my head. I cannot touch her I know. She must go. 

“ _INDRA, KLE TEM A DREU” (INDRA, TAKE THEM AND LEAVE),_ I yell, mouth dry but determined none the less. There is a roar of protest, hisses from my warriors. But I ignore, do not turn my back to face them as I grit my teeth. “ _NAO, INDRA”._ She knows well enough this is an order. I hear her yell to my people, listen for the retreat. 

And suddenly I am alone. Alone with the enemy. The only black against this expanse of painted white. My heart thuds in my chest. 

She walks toward me, her white heavy and precise where as I am smudged. Wounded. She is the same height as I, and still, when she stands before me she grasps at my chin and tilts my face upwards in dominance. I hiss, hope the black of my paint smudges against her hands. _“Vahol Leksah”_ , she says again. “Welcome to the Ice Nation”. She looks behind me but continues to hold my face in her hand. I take in what I can see of her features. Soft cheeks, deep eyes, almost red lips against her pale. She is ferociously beautiful. 

She looks back into my eyes, smirk again on her lips as she speaks. “My name is Clarke.....in case you were wondering.” She steps back and I should have realised. It wasn't until there was pain against my scalp and hands against my back that I cringed.

Until all I felt was darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos me bitch. 
> 
> Also Clarke may seem OOC right now. But she's really not. Wait for it. 
> 
> Come and share my Clexa love at tangledin-prose on tumblr. I will be drinking wine and re-watching that sex scene from 3.01


End file.
